In the running for worst night of sleep ever
Last night I think I slept for maybe three hours and those three hours can’t really be classified as sleep as much as they can be classified as the amount of time I had my eyes closed and prayed for sweet death.
Since the fall, we’ve let Gus sleep on the bed with us and he’s done really well. There have only been a few times he’s woken up needing to get down for water or to go outside and most of the time it was a test of wills to see which one of the two of us could fake sleep the longest without giving in. Last night, however, he had a terrible time laying still, mostly because he’d been home alone all day and a large portion of the evening while we whooped it up at book club (I haven’t read a book for this supposed book club in probably two years) and talked about whether or not someone had sex in the Old Navy parking lot while waiting for the Black Friday sale. You guys, if you don’t have a book club that involves dinner, three desserts, booze, celebrity gossip and what book? then you’re missing out and no, sorry. We’re full up on awesome.
I spent about two hours having my hand ferociously licked by Gus because, as per his nightly ritual, that’s what he does until he’s ready to fall asleep. Since he’d been alone through the day and night for probably 13 hours he wasn’t really ready to sleep, though, so he kept licking and licking and licking until my hand was a sodden and sticky mess and I wiped it off on Janie’s back while she had the nerve to lay there and snore softly. Seriously? Seriously you’re going to sleep all cozy and happy while I sit here being mauled by the dog? So she deserved to have it wiped on her back, is what I’m saying. Especially after what happened next.
I finally fell asleep only to be woken up at 4am by my lovely wife, Janie, making what can only be described as the sound of a high pitched, shrieking rooster being brutally murdered by Mariah Carey while she’s singing that record-breaking high pitched part of her song Emotions. It was so loud that I was pretty sure the new neighbors heard it and now think we have some kinky nighttime sexy ritual of making awful bird noises. To say it was alarming is an understatement. Janie actually woke herself up and I asked her if she’d been dreaming, which was a dumb question because there is no other explanation for what had just happened. She explained to me that she’d been dreaming about getting a phone call from someone asking her to be discreet and that phone call made her so enraged that she kept screaming obscenities and making high pitched noises to frighten them. And at this point it was all so ridiculous that I couldn’t stop laughing and then she couldn’t stop laughing and now not only had we woken up our neighbors with wild animal shrieks, we were following it up with raucous rounds of unstoppable laughter. It took us a good 20 minutes before we got things back under control.
That’s when Gus needed to go pee and I made Janie take him out into the frigid early morning as punishment. He was finally ready to sleep after that, but then smashed his tiny body so tightly up against mine that I was held hostage on the edge of the bed and couldn’t get comfortable. I would move him back to the middle every once and again, but he’d roll right back over as I shifted and there I’d be, pinned by a ten pound dog, worried that if I fell asleep I’d roll over on him and wake up in the morning looking like that lady in the Far Side comic with her little dog wedged in her ass. Awful.
I’m pretty psyched to go to bed tonight at a reasonable hour. I’ll be taking toxic amounts of sleeping pills and sending Janie to the couch should anything untoward happen to further sully our reputation with the neighbors. I need some rest because tomorrow is Cookie Baking Day in which my mom, sister and I bake the shit out of some cookies. This is one of my favorite annual holiday activities, despite my mother’s ridiculous demand that we start at 8am and except for that time last year when I made her cry.
In case I can’t update tomorrow on account of all the cookies I’ll be shoving in my big fat mouth baking, enjoy these news stories and horrifying facts. I’ll be back just as soon as I wake from my diabetic coma.
Two romance language teachers caught naked in a classroom, communicating in the international language of love.
Chihuahuas are taking over L.A.! So many chihuahuas that 25 of them had to be shipped to New Hampshire wearing tiny coats. Do us a favor, Paris and Britney, buy a hedgehog instead (oh, oops, nevermind).
Bed bugs reproduce solely by means of “traumatic insemination” which is the most awful thing I have ever heard of. Even more awful than that noise Janie made in her sleep.
“Every time you’re having sex out of wedlock, remember, Hymen is watching you.” The Swedes rename the hymen. Meet the vaginal corona.
My mom once told me that at Christmastime in Germany, Santa came with a companion named Ruprecht, who would beat the naughty kids on the feet with a rod. Well, it turns out she wasn’t just trying to scare me. Ruprecht is real and, in fact, much worse than she said: In some of the Ruprecht traditions, the children would be summoned to the door to perform tricks, such as a dance or singing a song to impress upon Santa and Ruprecht that they were indeed good children. Those who performed badly would be beaten soundly by Servant Ruprecht, and those who performed well were given a gift or some treats. Those who performed badly enough or had committed other misdeeds throughout the year were put into Ruprecht’s sack and taken away, variously to Ruprecht’s home in the Black Forest to be consumed later, or to be tossed into a river.